


I Feel You

by thephilosophah



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Frustration, M/M, inability to express feelings, mute!dave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 16:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4067530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thephilosophah/pseuds/thephilosophah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In wich Dave is mute and absolutely needs to tell Karkat how he feels - right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, never thought I'd find myself writing DaveKat yet here we are. Muse punched me right in the feels and demanded frustration.  
> Don't you hate it when you can't word things?  
> (Karkat POV)

He clenches his fists and curses himself silently, frustration for his own inability to form words, to express how he feels.

He points at himself – _I_ – runs his middle finger up his chest – _feel_ – points at you – _you_ \---

\---and he runs out of movements and signs and he grabs at the air as if it has the gestures he’s missing to voice his thoughts – as if it has his _voice_ held far away from him, too high to even bother jumping.

He grabs some notebook, a pen.

He draws what looks like the Light symbol (the lines are all straight and even and far too few) before he jots over it – _that’s not quite right_. He draws a Heart, both halves full and connected – he scribbles over it as well. He growls as well as he can (using only his breath) (has no voice has no threat) and paints jolts and squiggly lines; lightning. He paints something that reminds you of Eridan – wait no, that’s not it – and he keeps painting his symbol around into swirly lines and curves until it becomes a tidal wave that covers most of the page.

His fist shakes, you worry for the integrity of the pen, he crosses the page out. Turns it.

He draws a human, hands forming a circle in front of the chest, stops before he finishes and scribbles over it. He draws a beast with sharp teeth and pinchers holding a tiny thing that has a head and nubby horns. He draws himself (a white circle with two black circles for shades) hugged by his own cape, it creates a cocoon for him (safe, safe).

He looks up at you for a moment, and then he draws two people (one has black circles over the eyes and the other has round horns on the head) cuddled together, one (shades) enveloping the other (nubs) much like his cape had in the previous drawing (safe, safe), and then he sighs out his frustration and draws Nubs lying down and Shades curled up in a ball on Nubs’ torso, the latter’s arms closing around the former.

He throws the pen on the paper, lets out a silent scream, grabs at his hair.

He snaps his shades off.

Points at you, stares at you.

He pushes both palms over his heart and pushes and pushes until he forces his own chest back and he’s slouching over himself. He curls one hand into a fist while the other hugs it, pressing against his chest still. He pops his hands out in an explosion and holds them there for a second, just enough to call up on Time to glow a red flash between them – he forces the glow down and out before his turntables show up.

He grabs his own nape and drags his nails down (he doesn’t draw blood, of course he doesn’t, but he comes _really fucking close to it_ ) (those lines will stay there for a good over a week) clenches and unclenches his fists in front of him, his hands shaking, his lip curling, eyes glossing.

He grabs two fistfuls of your shirt, then lets go. He takes a deep, deep breath and rests his palms on your chest.

You swallow. His gaze stays on his hands.

He takes one of yours and puts it over the gear on his shirt, then the other and holds it on your symbol with the hand that is already there. His free hand joins your other one on his chest.

He stares right at you and you choke on nothing when you realise what he’s doing.

Slowly, steadily, your heartbeats sync up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, one of them can speak, might as well. Dave's POV.

He takes your hands to place them on your laps, where your knees meet. Your right palm is facing up; your left, down; incidentally, so are his. He makes it so you’re holding each other’s wrists.

“Well fuck. How the hell do you follow up to that? What do you expect me to say?” You feel his pulse quicken and squeeze his wrist to force your own to follow – he squeezes back and you only remember he has claws when he glances down.

“Do you trust me?”

You nod and squeeze. His claws tickle your veins.

“I trust you”, he breathes once, twice, closes his eyes and leans his head back (way back, alien spines). You lean forward and press your lips and nose on his exposed throat.

_(you won’t bite me) (you won’t claw me)_

_(my veins are safe under your threat)_

“I don’t think”, his skin vibrates under yours, “I don’t think my ability to use words will ever do the heaving mess of my thoughts any kind of justice. You, fuck, you’re the reason for that. Congrats, you render my words pointless.”

You sit back and he straightens his neck.

“You do a better job without words - hell, barely even needed a pen - than I do with a dictionary of a multi-planet empire. I don’t-I don’t have any state of exposure to show without telling, I don’t have powers only Gods are allowed to wield, I can neither make you understand by sheer will nor change my own bodily functions for you. I can’t ring up an aspect for a light show, or – or scribble lines to make you see- fuck, I can’t do anything, and yet, here you still are. You think I’m worth it, somehow, you think I deserve this. And you know what? That’s positively fucking stellar by my book, that you’re willing to give me the time of the night, and then you go ahead and _give me the time of the night_.”

You clench your hands around his wrists and shake your head, holding his eyes with yours.

“I know. I know, sure I’m important for _something_ if I haven’t died yet, but I’ve never been worth any time. Jegus, you are literally God of the stuff and you go ahead and waste it on me!” You shake your head again. “...Thank you. For wasting your aspect on me. I’d do the same, but -heh- damn shit is so disgusting it’d be more of an insult than a token.”

You lift his left hand and plant a kiss on his wrist. You let your face linger on his veins, thin skin on thinner, to feel his heartbeat on your lips.

 “What I feel for you...” he trails off, his face a mirror of what yours was when you realised sign language didn’t even _approach_ what you had to express.

“Fuck. You make me happy. You are the dark of my night, without you I’m just rotting away in my own misery. I love you.” His face twists ( _you scribbled over the heart_ ). “That’s not right. You- for you, I would fight the beasts, I would punch a horrorterror in the face, and my life be damned, for you, I created a universe. Gave it cancer, sure, but if you’re dealing with me, some shit is bound to be messed up. I- you are like the moment when the horizon turns red and you already know you won’t make it to shade before the sun shows up. You’re the rush when a seadweller pokes their head out of the water you were walking close to. You are a pulse so quick you worry me for my well-being. You make me feel ready for a fight with the world, a race to infinity, a wrestle against myself. You make every moment so _intense.”_

A pause, and he takes his hands away so he can relieve his claws on his jeans.

“...No, you don’t. You turn some hours fuzzy, and-” he stops and stares at your sketchbook. “Fuck. We have the same thought process.

 “You make me feel safe. I trust you. You could rest a blade on my eye and I wouldn’t expect it to blind me. I could bet each and every one of my vital organs you would never betray me. You get a free shot at the bet organ if I’m wrong.”

You run a hand from his guts to his lungs, and then pat his brain. You repeat the motion on yourself.

“Yeah. I trust you with them like I trust myself. You protect them like your own anyway. What’s mine is yours.

 “You make hours blend into minutes and moments tangle with centuries – do you do that on purpose? Are you actually messing with my perception of Time, or is it my own twisted sense of awareness? I feel I don’t need to be sharp around you, not all the time. You bring my guard down when I can’t bring it down _myself._ You are –wow this will sound way wrong – you make me so comfortable I forget my name, I forget my location, I forget Time. You are my favourite shirt and a fresh ‘coon and a code that compiled right. You are the familiar grip of a scythe and fuchsia and green moons and the smell of iron in the air. With you, I re-read my favourite line for the millionth time, I mouth the best confession along with the actor who speaks it, I bury myself in pillows and blankets, I let the wind blow through my hair. You are the feeling of taking a walk in the rain, singing off-key proudly, whispering secrets, cuddling in soft socks. You are...

“...lips on a wrist carrying blood so wrong it should’ve killed me already, but somehow finding it beautiful enough to not spill.”


End file.
